


Run boy run (This world is not made for you)

by admirabletragedy



Series: Whumptober 2020 [9]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Fic, Gen, No.9, Non-graphic injury tw, Run!, whumptober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26905192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admirabletragedy/pseuds/admirabletragedy
Summary: Day 9 • Run!She’s just moved back, having retrieved the beater and plugged it into the outlet in the wall when there’s a knock at the door.Mama pauses, setting down the beater and lowering a hand to Ezra’s shoulder.Papa moves to the kitchen entrance — his brows furrowed — and shares a look with Mama.It’s nine o’clock. Why would anyone be visiting this late? In the corner of his eye, he can see Mama turning the oven off.It feels as though darkness has descended upon the house; Ezra can’t help but shiver.
Relationships: Ephraim Bridger & Ezra Bridger, Ephraim Bridger/Mira Bridger, Ezra Bridger & Mira Bridger
Series: Whumptober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946944
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12
Collections: Whumptober





	Run boy run (This world is not made for you)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song “Run Boy Run,” by Woodkid

“Careful, sweetheart,” Mama places a hand on Ezra's shoulder as he steps back from the oven, “you mustn’t turn the dials, we need it to warm up.”

Ezra nods, redirecting his attention to the mixing bowl while Mama grabs the ingredients they’ll need, placing them down on the counter.

He glances over the side of the drawer as she sorts through the measuring tools, taking out the ones they'll need for their recipe. 

Mama turns to look at him, and a fond smile grazes her face, “What first?”

Ezra beams, “Butter!” 

She nods in approval and watches as he drops the softened-butter into the mixing bowl, “Good, what next?”

Ezra points at the sugar, while Mama carries over a step-stool.

The holo in the other room casts a blue glow in the kitchen and a laugh track plays as his Papa watches a comedy. Holding out the bag of sugar, Mama lets Ezra grab the cup, adding the ingredient to the bowl.

“Eggs next,” He states, excited he remembered.

Mama lets out a small laugh at his enthusiasm.

He watches as she cracks the eggs on the side of the bowl before tossing the shells into the bin and washing her hands.

She’s just moved back, having retrieved the beater and plugged it into the outlet in the wall when there’s a knock at the door. 

Mama pauses, setting down the beater and lowering a hand to Ezra’s shoulder.

Papa moves to the kitchen entrance — his brows furrowed — and shares a look with Mama.

It’s nine o’clock. Why would anyone be visiting this late? In the corner of his eye, he can see Mama turning the oven off.

It feels as though darkness has descended upon the house; Ezra can’t help but shiver.

“Open up! By the order of the Galactic Empire, you are required to open the door!” The shout is rough, filtering through the door as the visitor continues to rap at the door.

Papa inclines his head, a steely look of determination crossing his face, “Go.”

Mama returns the nod — she looks calm but Ezra can feel a tremor in her hands as she clutches his shoulder — and ushers him to the sitting room, away from the front door.

Ezra can’t stop the fear that seeps into his veins as he hears Papa open the door.

Meanwhile, Mama’s opening the cabinet where they keep the safe, sending a wide-eyed glance towards the house entrance when she hears the door slide open.

His Papa’s voice — usually calm and comforting — is scorching as he addresses the visitors.

Mama unlocks the safe and reaches into the metal box, seizing a bag of... something. It's most likely coins, Ezra can hear its contents clinking against each other. She hands him the bag, pushing it close to his chest. 

“Save this,” She guides him farther through the house stopping at the sliding door. 

She pauses then — with the door open and Ezra standing with his back to the cold wind of the outdoors — and kneels before him, placing a hand on his cheek.

Ezra leans into the touch, afraid of what this all means.

He watches intently as Mama pushes the fabric of her head-covering out of the way and unclips her necklace. The blue stone glints in the porch light as she moves it over his head, letting it rest against his chest. The silver is still warm; it does nothing to stop the ice from spreading over his skin. 

She pushes a strand of his hair behind his ear and kisses his forehead. 

He's rendered helpless by the stinging in his eyes, “Mama? What’s happening?”

She looks so sad, Ezra wants to take back his question. He leans in and hugs her instead, blinking back tears as she hugs him back. She pulls back, a rare and intense look of seriousness crossing her features, “You need to run, Ezra.”

“Not without you.”

“Ezra, I won’t ask again.”

He shakes his head, “Mama, no.”

Her look softens as she stands up, “It’ll be okay, you'll be okay, but you must run, Ezra. Now!”

“Where are the others? Tell us! Where are the others?” Shouts from the entryway force Mama into action, he can only watch as she steps back and slides the door closed. Ezra moves back, takes one last look at her face — her smile — before turning to run from the house. She pulls the blinds closed as he turns his back.

He’s a few homes down when he stops and glances back at his house. He needs to know what will happen to his parents. He needs to know they’ll be okay. 

Ezra clutches the money bag to his chest and makes up his mind, turning on his heel and retracing his footsteps as he sprints back the way he arrived. He sticks to the shadows as he reaches the building, creeping along the side of the house until he reaches the window. Gripping the window ledge, he rises on his tiptoes to see inside his home.

He’s just caught sight of his parents when a white-armored trooper shoves Papa to the ground, where he lands with a hand stretched out in self-defense.

Ezra strengthens his grip against the ledge as he sees Mama move to help Papa up.

The troopers say something that makes his parents raise their hands above their heads and Ezra's breath fogs up the windowpane.

They look fearless. He wishes he could ask them how.

A trooper with a blaster stands behind his parents, forcing them out of the house, his weapon against their backs.

They leave his line of sight and Ezra pushes away from the window.

He's standing still — unsure of what to do next — when he hears a trooper yell from somewhere to his left. He snaps his gaze to the house’s corner in time to see the trooper point at him, calling out Ezra's location to the other officers.

He spins on his heel at the sound, heart beating loud enough that he can hear it, and runs from the building, his parents, and the troopers.

He hears Mama yell at him to run. He isn’t sure if it’s just in his head but he pushes himself to move even faster, anyway. Ezra risks a glance over his shoulder and spots the trooper from before, blaster raised and right on his heels.

Ezra can't help but gasp as he realizes just how dire the situation is.

He weaves between trees, sprinting in and out of the open street, striving to distance himself from the trooper. Suddenly, between one breath and the next, he inexplicably knows he  _ needs _ to move.

It’s just in time, too, he shifts to the side right as a red-hot blaster bolt passes by his shoulder, startling him and nearly making him drop the bag Mama gave him. He looks to the side — seeing no obstacles up ahead — and eyes a red gash near his shoulder, the bolt had ripped right through the edge of his jacket. Had he not moved, the bolt would've ripped through  _ him _ .

Ezra focuses on running, keeping his arm close to his body, and clenching his teeth at the sting of the burn. 

He passes through streets, gardens, alleyways — anything he thinks could help him lose the trooper — and ends up on a rooftop, pressing his back against the ground to hide himself from their view.

He breathes deeply, clutching his injured arm tight under the burn; it distracts him.

He sends recognition to the gods— thankful he’s gotten away, thankful he only has a blaster-graze,  _ thankful he’s still breathing. _

Ezra shuts his eyes, gritting his teeth to stop himself from crying out. 

He stays on the rooftop until morning, praying that his parents will be okay and he’ll be able to make it to the communication tower without getting caught.

It’s only when Ezra reaches the empty tower, dropping to his knees, that he understands he is truly, completely, and utterly alone.

Ezra finally lets his walls crash to the ground, and for the first time in his life, there’s no one there to tell him it will be alright.


End file.
